


Love contains more than four letters.

by Celticas



Series: Bushfire [2]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternative Meeting, M/M, MIT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:15:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22799965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celticas/pseuds/Celticas
Summary: Wakanda begins opening to the world. Starting with sharing a small piece of tech with the world. Crown Prince T'Challa goes to the presentation at the American technology University, MIT. Wandering off, he comes across a student in the computer labs and meeting that wasn't destined to happen for years to come changes the course of history.
Relationships: Tony Stark/T'Challa
Series: Bushfire [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1603648
Comments: 11
Kudos: 401
Collections: Australian Bushfires





	1. Chapter 1

The almost silence of an empty office building rang loud in his ears, the low drone of air-conditioning and a vacuum somewhere in the distance the only sounds. Even at seven in the evening, the engineering building at MIT was normally bustling. But now, other than himself, it was abandoned. He could have been the last person in the world. He knew better. Everyone else was at the mandatory presentation by the Wakandan delegation. The whole school had been threatened with everything from being locked out of the labs, to academic suspension, to expulsion if they were caught not going to the lecture.

Tony Stark didn’t care. They would never expel him, his scores were too good and his name too powerful to have them wanting to break ties. He didn’t care about his GPA, he topped every class he enrolled in and could probably teach them better than the professors if he gave a fuck. Which he didn’t. They might follow through on locking him out of the labs, but they were easy enough to break into. He had spent his whole first year (freshmen weren’t allowed in unsupervised) hacking the locks and they hadn’t been changed in the three years since. All in all, he was going to take advantage of the deserted labs to get some work done.

The body of the machine was done, and the framework of the code had finished rendering sometime around midday. He had been asleep when it finished and hadn’t cared enough to check the exact timing. Now time for the install and bug checking. That was going to be the interesting part. And by interesting his adviser would 100% say dangerous and/or stupid. But that was why he was taking advantage of the empty labs. If something was going to catch fire or explode better that it was just him in the vicinity. With ACDC blaring through the large space to chase away the ghosts that tried to close in when he let quiet settle around him, he got to work.

Install went fine, debugging not so much. For some reason that he could not fathom the thing kept going for the fire blanket. Maybe he had skewed the AI too hard towards the OH&S paranoid side of the spectrum? It had seemed like a good idea at three am. It was a stupid idea. The stupidest even. Swiping through he found the offending subroutine and gutted it mercilessly. Deleting hundreds of lines of code with relish.

He lost himself easily in the stream of data flashing across his screens. The half full coffee pot, forgotten at his elbow, succumbing to the demands of thermodynamics and becoming cold sludge as he worked. 

“Arg.” Black liquid sprayed across the keyboard as he did a spit take as the cold and bitter coffee hit his tongue. He couldn’t work like this! No self respecting inventor could work without a never ending supply of hot coffee. There was an idea, replace the faulty fire blanket subroutine with an ability to refill the coffee pot.

He cast a critical eye over the existing frame and arm attachment. It wasn’t going to work. Next time.

Shuffling back to the desk he had claimed with a new pot that he would probably only drink the first cup of and got back to work. Lots to do and the African delegation with their quaint ‘cutting edge’ tech would only distract people for so long.

=+=

T’Challa watched D’Kar pander to the spoilt, pampered Americans. Why his father had chosen to allow them access to Wakandan automation technology instead of one of the nations closer to their own borders he could not guess. In the end it did not matter if he could divine the reasoning, it had been done and there was nothing he could do to change that. As yet another group of over-eager students clustered around D’Kar, T’Challa took the opportunity to slip away. It was his first trip out of Wakanda and he had promised Shuri he would explore and tell her all about it.

The campus outside the grand lecture hall their presentation had been hosted in was dark. Office buildings surrounded a grass square, and more buildings sat behind them. He had memorised the map on the trip over as part of the security briefing, although that had also included a stern reminder to stay with one of the Dora Milaje at all times and he had broken that promise.

Skirting around the administrative buildings, he cut as direct path as possible to one of the electrical engineering build laboratories. Of everything on offer on this trip, the chance to see how things were done here a world away from his own fully mechanised laboratory was too good to pass up. Music with a heavy bass sent a thrumming up through the soles of his feet, he wasn’t as alone as he had thought he would be. All of the students and staff should have still been back with D’Kar. Curious he followed the noise, taking a wrong left and then having to up a floor to find the next sign of life, a single white light and the cool blue of multiple computer screens glowed out of an otherwise dark room.

“That’s not what I told you to do. Do what I told you. No! No! Put that down!” A voice twined in with the music, weaving a tapestry of chaos. The voice sounded male, young, and definitely American, although the exact accent wasn’t clear. Maybe a New York who had been out of the city for a long time, with an overlay that he recognised from his own upbringing and the people he spent time with at home, that of the perfect enunciation of finishing school. Whoever they were came from money. “Dummy. Yes, you. You are a Dummy.”

The words could be taken as cruel, as mocking, except they were said in the tone of voice you would use with a baby or a pet, when what you said didn’t matter as much as how you said it. T’Challa edged closer to the windows that stretched the length of the room, wanting to see without being seen.

Raven black hair above an unhealthily pale face was underlit by the computer screens, the tired bags under eyes too old for their face became bruises in the harsh lighting. The other boy, so close to being a man hadn’t seen him yet, giving the African Prince a chance to watch without being genuflected to. It was an odd affliction in a country that had thrown their own monarchy out so long ago, but they still fawned over him. Yes he was a Crown Prince, but at home people still came up to him to talk, to voice concerns. They were always polite but there was no over the top bowing and scraping that these Westerners couldn’t seem to help.

= + =

He could feel someone watching him. A presence where there shouldn’t be one. After years in the public eye it was a sixth sense that only every turned off when he was in his own space. The small apartment off campus he lived in with Rhodey, or the beach house north of New York that his Dad never went to. For a time he was able to ignore it, probably just another Freshman finally getting their glimpse of the famous Tony Stark™. But they didn’t go away. He wasn’t doing anything scandalous or tabloid worthy, they should have wandered off after a few minutes, bored. Flicking his eyes up he caught a look at a young face, maybe his age or even a year younger, skin smooth and dark enough it almost disappeared in the shadows of the almost pitch black of the corridor. Bright eyes catalogued every move he made.

Their eyes locked.

Instead of embarrassment at being caught, the other boy nodded calmly and continued watching.

What the fuck?

Tony glared and went back to work, hopefully he would get the message and leave.

“What are you working on?” A lightly accented voice asked. It wasn’t an accent he knew. A mix of African and British with something else, something unique that still rung a bell.

“What does it look like?” If he couldn’t figure out what a robot was, Tony didn’t have much hope of an intelligent conversation from whoever this kid was.

“It looks like a basic robotic unit. What is its function?”

Okay, that was fair. It wasn’t clear on first glance what the newly dubbed Dummy, or DUM-E maybe? Yeah that was more sci-fi, was for.

“Who are you?” A better question didn’t mean he was going to answer.

“I am T’Challa.” The boy said, standing up a tiny bit straighter. He spoke as if his name should mean something to Tony. News flash, it didn’t. Also, he didn’t care.

“Right. Good for you.” Tony went back to work. Studiously ignoring the other presence, he started re-building the safety code. Sinking into it, immersing himself into the syntax and alphanumeric chains of information he almost forgot he wasn’t alone. A feather’s touch of awareness still brushing the back of his mind.

The tapping of another computer set up a counterpoint to his own typing. It was more comfortable than he had ever found working with someone else in his space, with the singular exception of Rhodey in the engineering labs.

“Try this for the fire detection programming.” A window appeared on one of his screens. An elegant subroutine with none of the superfluous bullshittery that so many other coders used and Tony found just junked up the compiling of the programs.

Scanning through it, he realised it slotted perfectly into the existing code with only a few naming changes, and fixed the over sensitivity of the sensors but making their values determinable by voice command. He could increase or decrease depending on what he was doing. Huh, linking it into one of the learning modules would also mean after a bit of time he shouldn’t even have to tell DUM-E when to change the perimeters and to what levels, it would just do it itself.

“Thanks.”


	2. Chapter 2

Deep into the night they worked. A few personal words given tentatively here and there between long arguments about technology and Asimov’s Laws of Robotics. T’Challa was pro, watching the damage that the world was doing to itself was horrifying. Tony thought they needed updating, the possibilities for new technology was endless. That particular argument ended in chests heaving from shouting at each other.

Tony didn’t miss the spark of attraction in the Prince’s eye. The widening of his pupils, and the flick down to his lips and back. For the first time seeing that expression on someone’s face when they were looking at him, he  _ knew _ it wasn’t about his money or his name. T’Challa was probably even higher in the social strata then he was. And they were on an even footing intellectually. The connection was more than physical.

Tony stepped into T’Challa’s space, watching for acceptance. He didn’t know what Wakanda’s attitude to, well, anything was. It would be on the Prince to take the risk. He met him in the middle when T’Challa surged forward. The first flush as  _ New _ and  _ Heat _ settled into something more, a slow exploration. Two people who knew they would have all the time they wanted or needed to explore each other.

The need for oxygen forced them apart.

Their chests were heaving for a completely different reason now.

“Oh.” T’Challa said. Careful fingers running along his bottom lip. “Um. Excuse me.”

With as much dignity as he could muster, he walked out as quickly as he could. Tony watched him go, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time he saw the Prince, but feared it would be.

Finding he was still standing there, staring after the long disappeared man, ten or fifteen or sixty minutes later, unsure of how long had passed. Quickly packing up he escaped the lab out into the cool grey light of an early morning. He hadn’t realised how late, or early, it was. It wasn’t odd for him to work through the night, it was more odd when he didn’t. But to work for hours, comfortable in another’s presence was an irregularity that was worth considering.

A yawn tried to rip his face in half. Emerging from the depths of his soul. That consideration would have to wait.

Slipping through the early morning mist, it felt like he was in another world. A world where he wasn’t the gosling amongst a sea of ducklings. A world where he didn’t stand out, separate, in every single way. His small apartment was one block off campus, a small turn of the century brownstone that had been converted into four condos. He and Rhodey lived on the top floor, the other side of their floor was unoccupied at the moment and the two below were young professionals, quiet career driven. They hated him, stumbling in at all hours sometimes too drunk to be considerate and other times just not caring to.

That morning was different. He felt like his body was little more than the cool, clinging mist that had risen off the river during the night. His mind a swirling mess of air and thoughts that turned to whisps as he tried to grasp them.

“Tony?” Rhodey called out from behind him as he tried to fit his key into the front door.

His best friend, only friend really except Jarvis and he was more of a father than a friend, was gasping for air and dripping with sweat from his customary morning run.

“We missed you at the talk last night. Man, you should’a been there! That Wakandan tech was crazy. Maybe even better than yours.” Rhodey smirked, needling him.

“Pfft. Nothing’s better than my tech.” He blustered, trying to gather an armour of arrogance around himself.

“Tones you okay?”

It didn’t work.

With a lazy flap of his hand, he waved away the concern. “Just tired.” A perfectly times yawn sold it. A hundred and ten percent.

“Okay. Come on.” Gently being shouldered out of the way, Rhodey easily unlocked the door he had been struggling with and led the way upstairs.

= + =

T’Challa sped through the cold morning. Dew coating his shoes and wicking up the legs of his pants as he crossed the grass square between the engineering building and the visiting academics building the University had put them up in. He ignored it all. Getting involved with an American, with anyone other than a Wakandan would inevitably lead to heartbreak. As Crown Prince he had to return, and as not a Wakandan Tony could not come with him. He would not end up like that silly Shakespearean play, killing himself or someone he cared for because of insurmountable obstacles. Why Westerners found star-crossed lovers so romantic was beyond him.

“My Prince.” Ayo was waiting at the entrance, dark eyes glittering with intelligence and an awareness that most people would miss. She had known where he had been, a link formed between them long ago that allowed her to always find him. “It is not as bad as all of that. Do not be afraid to open yourself, just as Wakanda is doing.” As she spoke, her eyes brightened, turning from sparkling black to milky white, seeing beyond the here and now. With a single blink her eyes were back to normal. “D’Kar isn’t up yet. Try and get some sleep.” She pushed open the door for him but stayed in her position, guarding her people.

“Good night Ayo.” He murmured as he passed.

“Good night T’Challa.”

She wasn’t the only one awake, he traded nods and quiet greetings with three other Dora Milaje in the short staircase and corridor he had to traverse to get to his assigned room.

The small space wasn’t luxurious, thick curtains to keep out the cold in winter darkened the space even when open and most of the floor was taken up by a double bed and large desk. Used to open space and  _ air _ it was disconcerting, but was only for a short stay. It had to be for a short stay, he would return home and no shallow attraction to an American was going to change that.

Stripping off his rumpled Kitenge and cotton pants, he dropped onto the hard mattress in only his shorts. Normal sleep came easily to him. Rolling over his mind like the tide, slow but unavoidable once you step into it. With the grey light of dawn creeping its way across his ceiling, he waited for the undertow to take him. Instead phantom lips pressed against his own. The scent of motor oil and expensive cologne lingering in his nose. The taste of burnt coffee on his tongue. Ayo’s words and Tony’s panting breath loud in his ears.

For an hour he lay on the drab covers and turned everything over in his mind. Ignoring the words that the ancestors had sent him through Ayo would anger them, they would not have reached out unless it was more than two teenagers passing like ships in the night.

The noise of others rousing from their slumber and moving through the building grew, the murmur of voices too low for him to make out the words. Giving up on sleep, he climbed from his bed. There was a long day of smiling blandly at emissaries from other universities that were trying to get access to their technology and ambassadors from other countries trying to set up trade for their resources to look forward to.

He slipped into a chair next to D’Kar as the older man started eating. His chaperone sent him a censuring glare, a promise of harsh words once they were free from the ever present scrutiny. Nothing he did was ever good enough for D’Kar, always being measured against his grandfather and found wanting. The man was good at his job, but he had never gotten over T’Chaka passing over his sister in favour of T’Challa’s mother.

The large dining room was almost full, too many voices in too small a space for them echoing off the high rafters. He couldn’t see the rich dark hair and pale skin of Tony in the crowd. They were only going to be in the United States for another two days, the chances of him finding him again, without some way of contacting him, was low. His best chance would be returning to the laboratory that night.

= + =

Tony crashed hard. 72 hours and a metric fuck tonn of emotional confusion let him sleep without the usual problems. He was asleep before he reached his bed, shoes still on and a smear of grease on the back of his neck from T’Challa’s hand.

Normally a light sleeper, Rhodey banging through the rooms barely ruffled the fog of sleep. As the grey gave way to washed out gold and then again to deep red of sunset he slept.

Painful clenching of his stomach demanding something more than the coffee from the night before woke him sometime after sunset. His room only illuminated by the streetlight outside his window. The space outside his room was silent, Rhodey still out at his ROTC whatever.

Stumbling back into his jeans and pulling a worn tee-shirt over his head he was out the front door five minutes after waking up. If he lingered his mind would wander and he wasn’t willing to dwell. Not on the Prince who had stumbled into the lab not even twenty-four hours before. Not on the lost chance of  _ something _ they could have had.

“Fuck.” He muttered, he was thinking about it.

He stormed into the lab, nervous energy rolling off him in waves. The few other students and single professor already there glanced up and then away when they saw it was him. The days of his chaos being fascinating to his fellow university attendees long over, they had better things to do than gawk over the prodigal Anthony Stark. The presence of others would normally irk him, a shiver of awareness that he could never shake. Tonight it kept him from going out of his mind. Even if he wanted to come, T’Challa would not show while other people were there.

He worked steadily. Rooting out the last few bugs from the sub-routines that he hadn’t gotten to the night before. Hitting compile he sat back, watching the numbers stream across the monitor as his work came to life. It was only as his mind began to wander, waiting for the software to do its thing, that he realised how late it had gotten. There was only one other person still there, Felicity was another teenage prodigy and as unlikely to notice the world when she was working as he was.

“Did you get the syntax error in the back-sensor subroutine figured out?” A low voice asked from beside him.

Jumping, Tony spun to meet T’Challa’s eye.

“You want to talk about coding?” He asked, raising a single eyebrow in feigned nonchalance.

“Not particularly.” T’Challa allowed. “I was not certain that you would want to talk about anything else though.”

“For the first time in my life, I think I don’t want to talk about coding with someone who actually could keep up.” Tony confessed, letting more of himself show than he had meant to. The honesty shining through.

“I wanted to apologise for this morning. I should not have run, it was cowardly and most likely gave you the wrong impression.” T’Challa matched honesty with honesty.

Tony’s face blanked, the small amount of emotion he had allowed to creep free falling away.

“No problem. It’s fine. You’ve apologised, I’m accepting. You can go.” He wrapped himself in the arrogance he had learnt in his father’s shadow. Waving an imperious hand he turned back to the computer, tapping uselessly at a few keys that did nothing because the stupid thing was too slow and was still compiling. How he was meant to learn anything, as if, when the tech was so poor. Sneering at the lack of everything he decided that he was done with the school lab and if he wanted to get anything done he needed to have his own. The free apartment next door would do perfectly.

A warm hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled, the strength enough to send him twisting too far, going past T’Challa’s open face and then slinging back around.

Whatever this was, he was 100% not drunk enough for it.

“If I could do it again, the impression I would have wanted to leave was that I would very much like to get to know you better, and to do that again.”

For the first time since T’Challa had entered the lab the night before, he did not exude quiet confidence. Instead nerves were writing an ode to anxiousness across his face.

“Oh.”


	3. Chapter 3

Tony waited impatiently for the light to change, his Quantum Computing lecture had run late and he wanted to get home as soon as possible. Six months ago he wouldn’t have bothered going to class, but then he wouldn’t have had the rush to go home. A catch twenty-two that he found he preferred this option of. Actually attending his classes hadn’t affected his grades in any way, he had already been getting 100%, but it had decreased his mostly mental disregard for the rest of the student body, and opened a world of collegiate debate that he hadn’t realised he had been missing.

The week before Rhodey had commented that he was finally becoming ‘well socialised’. He still hadn’t figured out if it had been a compliment or a dog reference. Knowing his best friend, it was probably both.

Finally, finally, the light changed in his favour and he was able to race the final block home. Fishing his keys out of the depths of his back-pack, he forced the old letterbox open and ruffled through the envelopes within.

There.

Creamy white paper that didn’t feel quite like any of the other paper was a balm to his impatience. He hadn’t known exactly when the letter would arrive, but it was here. Finally. Leaving the rest of the mail where it was, he ripped his keys out of the rusted metal trap and swept inside, a hurricane of barely contained energy.

The apartment was empty, but he still hurried through the shared area and into the privacy of his room. Technically the whole place was  _ his room _ but he couldn’t stop Rhodey being in any of the other rooms, but they had agreed their bedrooms were off limit. One year in each other’s pockets had been enough for both of them.

Locking the door firmly behind his back, he dropped into the desk chair he never used to do any work at. The small envelope went in the direct centre of his desk. For long seconds he and the piece of creamy paper stared each other down until he realised he was being ridiculous and having a staring contest with something that didn’t even breathe let alone have sentience. Flipping the paper over, he opened it and set the small metal disk back where the envelope had been.

A small blue-toned hologram circled into life above the impossibly thin disk.

“Hello Anthony. Things have been well here. Shuri is doing well, she finished learning calculus last week and has moved on to classical mechanics and electromagnetism.” The smile on T’Challa’s face was sincere and loving, he doted on his little sister.

“I have a second edition of James Maxwell’s  _ A Treatise on Electricity and magnetism _ , I’ll include it with the next letter.” Tony spoke, still feeling a bit stupid to be talking to an empty room but a little green light flashed on the disk to signal that the thought had been recorded. It wasn’t quite the same as having a conversation but it meant he didn’t forget something he wanted to say.

“She is talking about making a new robot pet as Mother will not allow her to have an animal. I will send videos of the result….

For almost forty minutes the recording started and stopped as Tony interrupted to make notes for himself. Then he spent the next half an hour crafting his response. The things he wanted to respond to scrolling in front of him in holographic blue text. Every time he used it, the Wakandan tech became more familiar and his hind brain was ticking over about how he could replicate it with the materials he had available to him.

Signing off the final puzzle piece clinked into place and he abandoned the letter for his workshop, only remembering to post it three days later after setting the first round of code to compile and collapsing into bed for 18 hours.

= + =

It was slow. Probably the slowest thing Tony had ever done in his life. But somehow it worked. Maybe that thing about delayed gratification was true and the anticipation of the letters was feeding into the initial attraction.

Either way Tony seemed to blink and it was two years later and he still eagerly anticipated every letter. Inch by inch he had realised it wasn’t the anticipation though and it was more than the chemistry, god they hadn’t been on the same continent in almost three years. They understood each other on a level that Tony had never found with another person. And they had the same love of technology, rock music, and defining themselves outside of their father’s shadows.

There was an understanding, that without the guarantee of ever seeing each other again, physical comfort was fine but if either of them weren’t getting the emotional support from the other or found someone else they had to be honest. So far, it hadn’t been an issue. Oh, Tony wasn’t pining away, someone shared his bed at least twice a week. But it was never more than once and he could probably only name one or two of them and that was more just by guessing Sarah or Tanya and the statistics working out for him. He got everything else he needed from T’Challa and their frequent letters.

The only downside was that the world, and his father by extension, didn’t and couldn’t know about their relationship. Assumptions and snide remarks about the continual rotation of bedpartners had everyone scoff. Feeling like they now had a reason to look down on him. Before he had been on a pedestal, untouchable, the boy genius from the fated Stark line. Now he was the heartbreaker, the playboy, the boy man who didn’t care about anyone but himself and his own pleasure.

Playing into it, he slowly built a shell and then armour around himself. Now he was actually untouchable. The hardest thing, the only thing about it was Howard. He wouldn’t stay in the same room as Tony anymore. Never warm or proud of his son, he was openly scornful, believing that Tony was letting down the family name.

Tony just thought it was more of the same hypocrisy. Howard had been the same, or worse, before he met Mom. At least Tony didn’t make people think they were ever anything more than what they were, a one night distraction. A good time rolled into a story they could tell their friends or sell to the tabloids for a quick buck.


	4. Chapter 4

Very little information got out of Wakanda, but they watched the world around them with an intensity and interest that would have surprised the global community. T’Challa couldn’t help the slight smile that graced his face as he stood on his balcony and looked out over the city. Anything the world learnt about Wakanda would surprise them for good reason.

The only person it wouldn’t have surprised was Tony. Four years ago he had met someone who had changed his whole world view. Before venturing out of their borders, he had thought everyone outside of Wakanda had been backward and mired in greed and self-interest.

“T’CHALLA!” Shuri barrelled into his room without knocking. The hurricane that was masquerading as a Princess rarely slowed down enough to abide by the societal niceties that their Mother had been trying to drum into her from the moment she was born. T’Challa and their Father watched the ongoing battle with poorly disguised amusement. “T’CHALLA!!” She yelled again when she didn’t think he was responding fast enough.

“SHURI!” He yelled back at her to his own advantage, she had crossed the room and was hanging off his arm when he yelled, making her jump at the sound.

“Father wants you to come.” Putting all of her body weight into it, she tried to move him.

Bending swiftly, he scooped her onto one shoulder and marched out of the room with her hanging across his back and laughing, pounding her little fists into his lower back. Walking past the pairs of guards between the family’s private wing and the public administrative areas of the palace, he daren’t meet their eye or he and they would give into the laughter that was lurking in the corners of their eyes and mouths. He wouldn’t give Shuri the satisfaction.

“Father.” He greeted the king, Shuri still yelling to be put down behind his back.

“T’Challa.”

He put Shuri down. His little sister plastered herself against his side, the tone of his Father’s greeting off. It wasn’t his light hearted, warm way of interacting with the children he doted on and both of them knew it.

“Shuri, please go to your Mother.” 

T’Challa could feel her eyes on him, flicking between him and their Father. Tugging on the side of his shirt, she wordlessly asked him to lean down. It was something she used to do all the time in official functions that they weren’t meant to talk during, but she hadn’t done it in a few years. Acquiescing he bent down. Pressing a kiss against his cheek in support she ran from the room leaving the two men facing off across the large room.

Without a word she quietly pulled away from him and skittered to the door, her usual skip missing from her step. The large door boomed as it closed. It was a sound rarely heard in the palace, all council meetings were open to anyone who wanted to listen and the doors had become a symbol of the accessibility of the Royal family.

It sounded like a death knell. The tollings of the great clock that counted down each lift. Without being told, he knew someone was dead. All but one of those he would care about personally was in the same building and he would already know about any of them. That only left Tony. 

“It is not yet common knowledge, and most of our people would no...” His father was talking and he knew he should be paying attention, but a sick lurching had set up low in his stomach and 95% of his attention was going to keeping his lunch down.

“.... Howard and Maria Stark died late last night.” T’Chaka finished, the large space falling into an impatient silence, a starving predator waiting for its prey to take the final step into the line of attack, impatient for it to move faster but unwilling to spring first.

“Howard… and Maria. Not Tony?” Tumbled from numb lips. Pebbled dropped in the middle of a still ocean that started a tsunami.

“Not Tony.”

= + =

The next moments were a blur. Words were said and he put one foot in front of another. The journey from the Throne room to his bedroom a blink and an eternity. Bast smiled on him, the call connected straight away. It had only been in the last few months that they had been able to work out a secured network that allowed them to talk. Still they used it sparingly, piggy backing off a number of private satellites that they didn’t want to notice them.

“Tony? I just heard.” He wanted to ask if he was okay, but there was a world where he could imagine the answer would be ‘yes’ and the asking seemed insensitive.

“T’CHALLA! Ho’s’t goin’?” Tony slurred down the line.

Parsing the meaning took a second, alcohol thickening Tony’s tongue too much for easy comprehension.

“I am fine. Is there anything I can do?” If he didn’t answer the question, there was a 67% Tony would get stuck on it and wouldn’t drop it until his curiosity was satisfied. That number increased exponentially in direct relation to how much Tony had been drinking.

“I’mma gonna…” The sound of retching told T’Challa what exactly Tony was going to do.

“Hello?” A new voice asked. James Rhodes. They hadn’t talked directly, but he had left a few words in some of Tony’s messages and T’Challa recognised the voice.

“James. How is he?”

“Jim is fine. And not good. He hasn’t been sober since he found out and there isn’t any sign of him slowing down.” Jim’s voice was distracted, only a fraction of his attention on the phone call.

“Is there anything I can do?” He asked again.

“I dunno man. I don’t think there is anything any of us can do.”

= + =

T’Challa tapped impatient fingers against the plastic of the door handle. The creeping pace of traffic grated on already raw nerves. Wakandan flight crafts were faster than their Western counterparts, but still not fast enough to get him to Los Angeles as soon as he needed to be there. That already too slow pace had been forced to a crawl in the choking traffic of rush hour.

The night sky was a weak black stain across the sky, washed out by the light pollution of a million people, as his driver finally took the final turn into Anthony’s home. Pulling to a stop at the unnaturally white security gates.

“Stark Residence. No admittance.” A polished voice informed him out of a small, hidden speaker.

“My name is T’Challa. I am… a … friend of Anthony.” He spoke in the direction of the voice, hoping it was close enough for the microphone to pick up.

“Prince T’Challa, please make your way to the main house, Captain Rhodes will meet you at the door.”

Silently the gate slid open, disappearing into the thick, green hedge that lined the property. The house at the end of the drive was very different from those T’Challa was used to seeing, sterile white and shining silver in place of dusty reds and colourful murals. He missed the splashes of life and story that adorned his nation’s buildings.

“Hey T’Challa.” Rhodey waved him in.

The transition from suede purple night to sharp white artificial light was vicious. Following the ridgedly straight back of his person’s best friend, T’Challa barely took in the opulent surroundings. He could almost taste Tony’s proximity. Tension zinged in the air. Rhodes stopped at a closed door, the first one he had seen in the building.

“He’s through there.” Rhodes watched him for a minute, before walking away. Leaving him to make the decision to enter or not as he pleased.

The room was a mess. Bed stripped except for the bottom sheet, pillows flung around the room and the rest of the sheets piled unevenly at the end. Clothes scattered across the floor. Empty bottles crowded in any empty space that wasn’t taken up by half built machines and tools.

A half open door was the only light source, the curtains drawn tight against the midday sun. The sound of running away behind the open door gave away the bathroom and the location of the man he was searching for.

“Anthony?” Rapping a knuckle against the door, he waited.

The water stopped. The man who stumbled out, wrapped in a town but dripping wet looked ten years older than the last time he had sent a letter. “T’Challa?” His beautiful amber eyes opened wide with surprise dulled slightly by alcohol and grief. “T’Challa.”

They both moved at the same time. Coming together on a wave of sorrow and need. Lips crashed against each other. He didn’t taste the same as last time, burnt coffee replaced by the burn of top shelf scotch. But the passion, the need to please was the same. Tony shuffled them across the room, blindly searching for the bed. T’Challa hadn’t realised they had reached it, until the edge hit the back of his knees and he toppled over, Tony landing on top of him. A warm weight. Short-nailed, work-calloused fingers dragged against the wry hair just above the waistband of T’Challa’s tailored slacks.

He had to pull away from the kiss to breathe , the air from his lungs punched out of him but the feeling of Anthony’s fingers finally wrapping around him. Flexing his own fingers, he found they had crept under the towel and dug into the firm muscles of a well-toned arse.

“Yes.” Anthony hissed into his ears.

“No.” T’Challa moaned when those skilled finger’s disappeared from around the aching length of his cock. “Yes.” He encouraged them when they reappeared in the buttons of his shirt, nibbly undoing the tiny annoyances. In quick efficient movements they stripped him of the few layers he had on, Anthony’s towel dropping away without any help from either of them. They both stood back for a second, drinking their fill of each other. They had flirted and there had been that first kiss. But they had never had a chance to stop and  _ look _ . To memorise the smooth flow of satin skin over steel muscles. Both of them were in exceptional shape, for Anthony it was the physically of his inventions the assertion that he could do it all himself. For T’Challa, he trained with the palace guards every day, preparing for the role he would one day inhabit as his country’s protector. Her guardian.

Their meeting was slower this time. More gentle as if they had simultaneously remembered they had all the time in the world to learn each other. With it, an awkwardness emerged. The hesitance of lovers new to each other and invested in how the rest of the night went.

Hands slid carefully across skin, calluses catching and dragging deliciously. Tongues licked across each other, warm assurance they were there and in whatever this was together. Anthony licked his way down T’Challa’s body, diverted momentarily to taste the hollow of his throat and nip at a peaked nipple before continuing south. Mapping every peak and valley of muscle. He stopped just before he got to his destination, glancing up for permission.

“Yes. Bast, yes.” T’Challa sighed, eyes blown wide with lust.

Wet, warm, suction descended, catapulting him directly into ecstasy. 


	5. Chapter 5

T’Challa rarely listened to the global news anymore. Shuri or someone else let him know if there was anything he needed to know, but Wakanda was still focused more on what was happening within their own borders. Watching the international news hurt. It ripped his heart out each time  _ his _ name was mentioned. The innovations, the parties, the  _ bedmates. _ Better that he just focused on learning his role, learning everything his father had to teach him.

For six years that evening had been playing itself out in his mind. The other man had woken up first, T’Challa still didn’t know how much earlier. But early enough to be well into his bottle. The anger in Anthony’s eyes as the alcohol had taken hold. The hurtful horrible words that had spewed from his lips so soon after he had given his everything to the other man. T’Challa shuddered at the memory. At the bile that had been thrown around so easily. 

His own behaviour had been barely better, heat came to his cheeks even now. He had allowed the hate to invade him and returned it. Even more shamefully, after storming out he had not attempted to contact Anthony to apologise. His cowardice was unforgivable and now it was too late, the damage long since set in stone.

For five and a half years, each time he had glanced at the goings on of the world outside his own borders, there had always been some story of Anthony and his latest conquest or party or extreme bout of irresponsible behaviour. He was not just that boy he had been when they met at MIT, he was magnitudes worse. He couldn’t even see shades of the man he had fallen in love with.

Sitting at his desk watching the city outside his window, he was grateful he could hide away here in the home that he loved, with people that cared about him. The colour and life was soothing.

Behind him, the almost closed door creaked open and then clicked properly closed. He could see the wide eyed stare of his little sister in the window reflection. For once she was silent, no teasing words or sassy quids fell from her lips. It reminded him of the look she had given him as he had blown through the palace the day their father told him about Anthony’s parents.

“I can’t Shuri.” He murmured sadly. If she was there to tell him that Anthony’s partying had finally caught up to him in some ugly way he didn’t want to know. Let him have a few more hours, or minutes, or seconds of blissful ignorance.

“He’snotdead.” The words tumbled out, as if being held back had fused them into one being.

His wish wasn’t to be fulfilled then, he would have to face whatever calamity awaited him behind his back, on his little sister’s tongue.

“He’s missing.” Those words were chosen carefully. Two words that shattered his world and remade it in an instant. A world that had Anthony in it but beyond his reach. He had thought that had been the defining rule of the world before, but now he realised how much he had been deluding himself. Some small part of his heart had been holding out for Anthony to reach out, to assuage both of their loneliness.

“What?” He spun to face her, leaning as far across the desk as he could get. He didn’t need to look for lies or deceit, she would never do that. Not about this.

He felt like he was about to throw up.

“He was in Afghanistan demonstrating some new WMD. His convoy was attacked and he was taken.” She summerised quickly even as he was searching the news. Every website was headlining it with various eye grabbing, lurid headlines. Switching to the BBC website, he read through the live article, getting the small details that Shuri had left out.

None of it made the sick lurching go away.

He closed out of the internet and logged into the research satellite N’Dele was using to map Chiru migration on the Tibetan Plateau. A few lines of code and his override had it redirected to the skies above Afghanistan and beginning a spiral search out from the co-ordinates the initial attack had taken place at looking for any movement of people. 

Leaving it to do his work he hacked into the NATO secure channels and started dragging their information out to further refine the search algorithm, telling the program to ignore their convoys and focus on areas they hadn’t reached yet. Unnoticed as he worked, the sun set behind him the darkness and chill of the deepening night pulled him from his half-way done hack into Stark Industries. It wouldn’t just be the American Military that would be looking for the kidnapped genius, his own people would be as well. He should have been further along, getting into the first level of servers had been easy but the deeper R&D was putting up more of a fight, almost as if someone or something was fighting him. 

Shivering slightly from the cold and draining adrenalin, he sat back from the computer. What he was doing wasn’t working. He stared unseeing at the screen for long enough that it flickered to black waiting on his input.

A voice curled around the back of his mind, a smooth memory of a time that was only sharp edges. Jarvis. The man on the intercom. But not a man, an entity modelled on the man who had meant so much to Anthony, shaped so much of the caring man he so desperately tried to hide.

Maybe gaining illegal access to the information he wanted wasn’t the way to go. He picked up the phone, considered the keypad for long seconds and then put it down. No system coded by Anthony Stark was just going to  _ give _ him the information he wanted, not after everything.

Stalking away from his desk, intent on getting some sleep before tackling the servers again, he turned back at the door. What would it hurt to try? Someone already knew he was trying to get in.

He stabbed in the numbers before he could triple guess the decision.

“Who is this?” A woman asked, accusation and fear competing for supremacy in her voice.

That wasn’t what he had been expecting, last he knew Rhodes was the only one close enough to Anthony to be answering his phone ever let alone while he was missing in a warzone. But the Airforce Major was looking for his missing friend and, of course, male. “Who is  _ this? _ ”

“T’Challa? Is this T’Challa? Can you help? Please tell me you can find Tony.” The woman was almost begging. “He always says your technology is light years ahead of everyone but him.” A single, wet laugh escaped her and broke quickly into sobs.

“It is. Who is this?” He wouldn’t say any more until she answered his question. The fact that Anthony spoke of him was a revelation that he would have to turn over later.

“Oh, sorry. This is Virginia Potts, Pepper. I’m Tony’s Personal Assistant.”

“I can help.” There were more nicities they both should probably go through, but he suspected she would have as little patience for them as he would. “I need access to any information you have as soon as you have it.” He slipped into the role he had spent his whole life preparing for, a leader to gather his people and shelter them from any storm, able to inspire confidence and action.

“Jarvis…. That was you? You don’t need to hack in, your credentials are still in the system.” She rallied admirably, he could tell what Anthony would see in her. A corner of his heart he had thought blackened over with hurt and too much time twinged at the thought he had been replaced. “Just… Please, if you find anything let me know? I care about him too.”

He could hear the unspoken message that she came second to T’Challa, still. His brain was too full to parse out the complete meaning of that.

“I promise.”

The silence of a dead phoneline and still night air was too much, it pressed on his mind. Leaving the dark office behind he slipped from shadow to well of darkness. The city fell behind him, the wide plains of his country, his home opening up before him. A silver bathed paradise that didn’t feel safe anymore. The pain of the outside world had inched its cold fingers through the barrier that had protected him for so long. He threw himself through the night, dew wetting the pants of his legs and ruining the leather of his shoes. 

For long hours he ran, trying in vain to reach the moon along the silver pathway it unfurled under his feet. Silver retreated before red and then gold as the sun rose and burnt away the moisture of the night.

Exhausted he stood at the top of The Waterfalls and blindly looked out over the edge of his world. The hours of pushing his body to its limits had allowed his mind to slowly settle, a core deep calm internally as his body heaved with exertion.

“Are you ready to get to work?” Nakia asked from the shadows of the Mopane tree.

“Yes.” He followed her through the growing morning to the jet she had been using to follow him. He hadn’t known she was there, but he wasn’t surprised either. She had been looking out for him since the first day of school, and they had only gotten closer when he had been the first boy she had kissed, realised she never wanted to kiss another one and he accepted it. Now they were as close as T’Challa was to Shuri.

= + =

Time flew in bursts of a leopard’s chase, and the creep of the desert grasses during drought. For three weeks, he coded new search algorithms, updated the automation of four different Wakandan or Stark Industries satellites, and combed through gigabytes of data. He found a lot of questionable activity that he passed on to whoever could deal with it, but didn’t feel like he was any closer to finding Anthony. A blip of energy that shouldn’t have been there lit his screen up bright red at some time past midnight, time had lost all meaning after the second week. Pulling up the radiation signature of the blip. It was beta that matched palladium-107, the particular isotope that Anthony used in the Jericho designs. Why was enough radioactive material for ten of the WMDs sitting in a supposably unpopulated valley of the Southern reaches of the Hindu Kush.

Re-directing all of the satellites he had access to, over the next hour and change he narrowed it down. A cave system north of Asadabad lit up on the very extremes of the ultraviolet spectrum. It was the closest thing to a lead he had found since he heard the news.

“What have you got?” Rhodes answered after the second ring, as impatient as T’Challa was to find their missing man.

“Three point seven kilometres north-north-east of Asadabad in Kunar Province there is a cave system.” The dial tone was his only answer.

Re-setting the satellites to continue their searches in-case this wasn’t it. The hurry-up-and-wait of the search dragged at him and the crashing adrenalin of  _ still not knowing _ was overcoming him, shuffling out of his office, he blindly made his way to his bedroom asleep before he reached the door. 


	6. Chapter 6

Something was poking at his back. Poke, two seconds, poke, two seconds, poke.

“STOP!” He batted at the annoyance.

“No. Get up.” Shuri poked him again.

“Go away.” He poked her back when she wouldn’t stop poking  _ him. _

“They found him.”

He fell out of bed onto the hardwood floor with a painful thump and was up and moving before the pain hit his nerve receptors. Slipping and sliding in his socks on the polished wood he crashed his way back to his office. Flicking screens that had been dark for weeks to life, sound and light burst into the quiet space. Every monitor was showing a different news channel. Every single one was a news anchor in languages from every corner of the globe announcing the miraculous recovery effort that had saved the missing billionaire Tony Stark.

Blindly he picked up the phone and on auto-pilot, punched in Virginia’s number.

“Thank you.” She whispered, voice ragged.

“They just say he has been found. Is he…” He couldn’t finish the thought. 

She knew what he was trying to ask though. “He was hurt. They are medivacing him to Ramstein. Major Rhodes is going with him. I’m meeting them there. You should also…” 

“I will see you there.” They quickly gave their goodbyes and hung up, each of them already lost in the mental juggling dropping everything and flying halfway across the world as soon as possible required.

“Nakia is getting a jet ready for you.” Shuri said from the door.

Moving swiftly across the room, he gathered her up into a tight hug.

“It’ll be okay big brother.” She murmured reassurances into his shoulder. They poked and proddes, teased and taunted each other, but it was a prickly covering for a closeness that was indescribable to anyone who had never experienced it.

“Come with me.” The words tumbled out of his mouth without permission. Without thinking them through. Their father would never allow it and they both knew it. 

Both of them glanced out the window, he guessed the time at just past daybreak, the king would be in with his council at this hour.

“Ask forgiveness?” Shuri suggested, a monkey’s grin on her small face.

Nodding, they moved as one. Sprinting through the palace trying to stifle their laughter. The guards silently watched them go, happy to see the return of the lightness that had been missing from the royal children for almost a month.

“Come on!” Nakia called as they raced into the hangar, a smile on her own face. The purring of the engines almost drowning her out.

The flight to Germany was filled with chatter and laugher, T’Challa even able to throw out a few jokes with the lifting of the melancholy that had weighted his soul since the fight he hadn’t been able to move on from.

A red-head he knew was Virginia Potts met the three of them at the gates to the rambling Air Force Base, a bland impersonal smile on her face when he met her eye. It transformed into something beautiful when he introduced them, Nakia’s slight stumble over her own greeting underlined the effect the American woman must have on anyone around her.

“Follow me.” She led them through the tightly packed buildings with a confidence that was reassuring. “He is in surgery at the moment. I’m sorry T’Challa, he.. there was… that is to say… he has heart damage.” Struggling to find the words to describe the damage to someone she loved, the last thing she wanted to do was pass that pain on to someone else.

“What is the prognosis?” He couldn’t engage emotionally. Facts and solving the problems was the only comfort we was going to find at the moment and he would sink into it until a better option emerged.

“Oh, no. He will survive. There will probably be long term health implications thought. I don’t know exactly what.” She hurried to assure him.

“I can help with that!” Shuri grinned at them all, waving the case she had brought with them.

Glass doors swooped open before them, antiseptic over the smell of sickness washed out of the building. They had arrived at the base’s hospital. Silently, the group followed Virginia into an elevator and up to the top floor.

A man in a USAF uniform that T’Challa vaguely recognised turned at the little ding of the elevator.

“Pepper.” He moved towards them.

“Major Rhodes.” The years and the uniform had stumped him for a second. But who else would be here, waiting for word on the no longer missing engineer.

“T’Challa. Thanks for being here. And it’s Jim.” The man pulled him into a warm hug.

Introducing his sister and best friend was the end of the conversation. None of them knew each other to make small talk, and were too worried to discuss the thing that had gathered them in an overly bright, well bleached corridor, staff hurrying past them ignoring or throwing them pitying looks depending on their nature.

In the closed off microcosm of the hospital, with no natural light and a tension tight enough to snap at the first sign of trouble, time ground to a stand still.

…

…

…

“Are you all here for Mr Stark?” A doctor asked as she pushed through into the corridor, pulling a gown off to reveal sweat soaked scrubs.

Briskly, Viriginia stepped forward to shake the tired woman’s hand. “Yes. I’m Virginia Potts, his PA and Emergency Contact. And this is T’Challa, he has power of Attorney.”

“What?” T’Challa yelped. Since when?

“He what now?” Shuri sniggered.

T’Challa battered at her to make her stop.

“Sorry.” She muttered, still covering a low snicker.

“Are you done?” Virginia raised a single elegant brow at her in judgement.

“Sorry.” Shuri was more convincing the second time.

“He’s okay. It will be a few hours until he starts waking up from the anaesthetic and will be out of it from the painkillers…” There are more words that flow out into the void, but it is white noise to T’Challa.  _ He’s okay, _ was chasing itself around and around his mind in circles. 

“When can I see him?” His mother’s voice was scolding him for being rude even as he asked, interrupting the doctor.

“Someone will come and get you but probably half an hour? We are moving him to the recovery ward and need to get him settled.” She smiled vaguely at them and shuffled back through the swinging doors into the hidden depths of the building.

“Coffee?” Nakia asked. She had no emotional stakes in this beyond T’Challa and now she knew it would be okay, she was willing to step away from his side.

“Please.”

“Yes!”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll come help.”

Waving Shuri after her, the two women disappeared back down the elevator. The air moved easier through the space with the draining of the tension that had become such a part of all of their lives. 

= + =

T’Challa hesitated. Virginia and Rhodes had both rushed into the room the second the nurse had led them to it. He could hear Tony’s sleep heavy voice slurring a greeting to them. Fifteen feet was all that remained between them.

Virginia re-appeared at the door. “He’ll want to see you. Go in, I’ll take Jim to go and find Nakia and Shuri. Give you two some time.” Shoving the major out of the room a second later, she mouthed ‘chin up’ at him and kept going.

_ Deep breath and get in there _ he grumbled to himself.

A myriad beeps and ticks filled the otherwise quiet place, medical machines checking on any and every variable they could to keep Anthony’s heart beating. Swathed in over washed cotton, Anthony looked smaller and more fragile than T’Challa had ever seen him. When awake and talking, which if he was awake he was talking, he was larger than life. T’Challa had never seen him asleep, he looked younger, vulnerable.

Sinking into the chair beside the bed, he threaded his fingers through grease-stained fingers, carefully dancing his own finger-tips across the half healed scabs on knuckles. “I’m so sorry.” He whispered. “For the fight, but more for not apologising earlier. Fore leaving it so long that I almost lost the chance to say I’m sorry and I miss you and I love you.”

“Love you to dummy.” A husky voice smirked.

Warm brown eyes almost met his when he looked up, the haze of painkillers had him a little out of focus.

“Pretty sure dummy is at home. But, I’m here.” He squeezed Anthony’ hand.

“Yeah, you are.”


End file.
